


All Hail To The Queen

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-24 23:35:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14964371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: The Ballantines had returned, those whose family had owned the Mansion for so very many years.  They'd been the premier family in the district by virtue of their money and heritage, local 'royalty', and the daughter, Laurette, the acknowledged Princess, destined to be Queen in her turn.  Well, they'd been gone for several years avoiding the war and now, upon their return, they found there was a new premier family in place, the one at The Cottages.  Laurette is more than a little displeased and targets Garrison and the other men in an attempt to destroy them and regain her rightful position.  Now the battle begins, and Laurette is a particularly dirty fighter.  There is, CAN BE, only one Queen.  Will it be the one who uses the position to take and destroy, or the one who uses the position to give and nurture?  The next few weeks will determine that once and for all, with far more hanging in the balance than anyone knows.  All Hail The Queen!





	All Hail To The Queen

Laurette Ballantine stepped out of the luxury car dressed in an elegant dark blue traveling dress trimmed in black braid, her blond hair coiled and tucked under an even more elegant little side cap with a black feather tucked into the band. She paused and took a good look around.

"It hasn't improved in our absence, certainly," she sighed. She hadn't wanted to come back here; she'd never been happier to leave a place than when her brother Arthur decided to take her to Switzerland to escape the danger of bombing. Why Arthur insisted they live HERE she had never understood. It was not the only property they owned; there were three in this country alone, plus another in the French wine country, and the one in Switzerland. Well, of course the one in France was out of the question til someone got all that tidied up, and London was not much better she understood, but what was wrong with staying in Switzerland she would never understand! But, no, no matter how she tried to convince him, he insisted they return.

"We are Ballantines, Laurette. Ballantines live in the Mansion; they live in Brandonshire. The Ballantines, why, they ARE Brandonshire!"

Well, SHE wasn't Brandonshire! She was not some grubby little village, filled with poorly dressed, poorly educated peasants! She didn't belong here, and she was furious that he'd forced her to return here. He could have let her stay in Switzerland; he could have given her a nice allowance and allowed her to live her own life for once. Let HIM return to this grubby little place, to this mouldering old house with its mouldering old furniture if he wanted to. There was no reason for him insisting she remain at his side! She was a grown woman; she had a right to live a life without being under the thumb of her brother! Well, she may be back here for now, but she'd find a way to get out of here, and when she did, she'd never come back!

Arthur Ballantine watched his lovely sister as she gazed with resentment at their home. He was tired, more than tired. Not just that it had been a long trip, though it had been. No, he was tired of the responsibility, of watching over her, of guarding her, of making sure . . . He sighed, rubbing his forehead.

He'd had such dreams once; he'd intended to leave Brandonshire, study medicine, become a doctor specializing in infectious diseases. His father hadn't understood that desire; he'd been content living the life of a country squire, but he'd been accepting of his only son pursuing his dream. Arthur would always remember that, no matter what else had transpired. That was before, of course; before his father had, well, before he had died in such unfortunate circumstances; before it became obvious he'd not be able to leave here; before it was plain that Laurette would need him to be at her side; well, would need SOMEBODY by her side, and for the good of the family name, it seemed he would be the best choice. She was headstrong, but she listened to him better than to others. It was hardly something one would ask an outsider to do, to take on that duty.

Still, she had seemed a little happier in Switzerland, and he'd had hopes; if they had come to life, then, he might have stayed there, but they didn't, and it all started over again, and he knew he had to leave, bring her back here where it was easier to control what she did, what was said. After all, the Mansion was home, Brandonshire was a known quality, and they were still Ballantine's; that meant something here, gave him more authority, more influence, just in case. Just in case. If he just wasn't so tired!

"They've come home, they have, the Ballantine's, you know. The ones who own the Mansion."

Mrs. Wilson was chattering at Meghada while she was putting together the last stack of clean laundry.

"You'll maybe not remember them; I think you came to the Cottage not too terribly long before they left, back when there was first rumblings of the war, and truly, there's little enough reason for you to have come into contact with them or them with you. He's pleasant enough, in a superior sort of way; has the Ballantine nose, high forehead, not unattractive but distinctive more than handsome, surely."

"Her, now, I never took a shine to her, even as a little girl. Pretty as all can be, of course, looks like her mother who died so young; young Arthur not more than sixteen then, the girl maybe thirteen when that happened; shiny blond hair, lovely blue eyes, but something about her, I don't know, just didn't set right. Called her the Princess, they all did; well, we ended up doing the same, but without the same fondness, I must admit."

"Father kept her pretty well cribbed up there, as I recall; maybe that had something to do with it, but never saw her unless she was preening herself, trying to take the shine out of any of the girls around here; never heard her without her letting you know just how much better than us she was. Always too good to pass the time of day, unless you were a good looking man, of course, THEN she'd find the time alright, and from far too early on."

"Father, then the brother, they kept a pretty tight rein on her; made sure to discourage any of the local lads from paying too much attention. Lucy Evans, her boy Jeffrey had a bit of a crush on Laurette, that's her name, you know, Laurette; the father let him know right fast what was what, and the next thing you know, the lad's lost his position. Ended up getting an offer out Sussex way, though, and settled over there; never came back here, married out there, he and his family don't even come back to visit; Lucy has to make the trek out there. Seems he was told what would happen should he return, ever, and them making the point well enough so he wasn't doubting it."

All of this was probably more than Meghada had intended knowing when she stopped in to pick up the laundry from the kind old woman she liked so well, more than she'd wanted to know, really, not liking to get embroiled in other's business, but it was always valuable to know what was going on locally, she knew. And this had a feeling of being important, as she'd never known Mrs. Wilson to be a gossip before, not in all the years they'd known each other, and here she was chattering away like mad, like some internal spring had been wound too tight. The way her eyes wouldn't settle, kept moving from one object in the small room to another, that bespoke of more than a little anxiety as well. Well, since the guys had lived at the Mansion for so long, it might be especially important; never could tell when the owners might decide to make their acquaintance, to good or ill, so best to know as much as she could. 

"And the brother, Arthur I think you said his name was?"

"Oh, he was a solemn boy, grew into a serious responsible man, from what I could tell. Wanted to become a doctor, though that never came to pass, especially with his father dying when he was but eighteen or so. Of course, it always seemed a bit off, them leaving because of the war, well before even, when it was just a rumor. Rest of us had to stick it out together, make do, but then, those with money, they think about things differently don't they, them leaving AND getting the lease money for the Mansion, not just letting the government use it as their bit toward the war effort," the old washer woman said in a matter-of-fact voice. "Seems they got double benefit, payment up front, and all the repairs done from damage caused by that bomb, even by weather and age and such." 

She hadn't hesitated over that bit of criticism. After all, she didn't count the young woman sitting in the chair in her living room to be one of those, 'them with money'; of course, those at the Cottages were perhaps better off than many in the village, she though, better off than most even, but you didn't think about them like that, somehow.

They didn't flaunt anything they had, didn't dress fine, make a fuss about things like they were due better, didn't act like they were too good to pass the time of day or share a pint at the pub. They shared what they had when there was need, pitched in when there was work to be done, paid for what they bought and bought local whenever they could, never letting themselves be taken advantage of but never trying to cheat anyone either.

She knew all that first hand; she did their laundry and never a worry about being paid, unlike with some, even getting a goodly bit up front, never a complaint, always a kind word and a smile, and sometimes an apology for the odd things she might find in the pockets. They'd even handed her a bit extra after she'd made the trek to personally return that little notebook she'd found in Mr. Garrison's pocket, him the blond Lieutenant-that-was, and how he'd moaned when he'd realized he'd left it in his trousers. Why, she'd even been sat down to have tea with them, and a rollicking, laughing time that had been what with the men joking and teasing the whole time, and then brought her home in their car like she was a lady and all. 

They'd made their place here during the war; they'd fought the fires caused by the bombing, pulled people out of the wreckage and helped tend their wounds, they'd brought that Miggs family to justice, that little dog Max had found the Jamieson twins when they'd gone lost, and old Ludie, Ben Miller's mother in law, when she'd gotten confused and wandered away after Christmas services last year; step by step, they'd made their way into the village structure.

And knowing they had all, including the girl, done more than their bit during the war, suffering hurt for it in the process, well that did them no harm in the eyes of the locals. The girl had provided some amusement in her crisp dealings with the men who tried any nonsense with her, Big Mike having racked up quite a toll with his pool on just when another fool would make a try and how much damage she'd do him, and a bit more entertainment with her adopting the lads from the Mansion and keeping that a secret from the military for ever so long before they finally figured it out.

She'd added a touch of romance, more exotic than anything they'd experienced before, when first one, then two of the lads had become something more to her, and each seeming to be fine with it. There were those who had raised their brows at that, but afore long, it was just accepted. Other brows were raised when those collars came into view, first the one worn by the lass showing, as she explained with a serene smile, she'd been Claimed as was custom in her family, the armband worn on his wrist by the blond Goniff, showing he'd Claimed her as his own; like wedding bands, she'd told them; then, after the war, the second armband added to the first and a collar appearing around the neck of the blond Lieutenant-that-was.

When the truth of that hit even the slower minds, well, there were those who were more than a mite taken aback, but, as before, afore long, it just was what was, a bit odd, acourse, but nothing to really comment on, those at The Cottages always being different, especially with her not being so fond of them being the subject of tittle-tattle, as that pest Doby could tell if anyone wanted to ask him. She'd even gotten Ben Miller to let her donate a finely crafted set of 'gossip stocks' for 'historical display' to be set up next to the green, and Doby had ended up entangled there more than once, somehow, with no one so eager to un-entangle him or admit to the tangling, and they all knew better than to accept HIS word for who was responsible. After all, there were plenty in the village who thought Doby needed to spend a little MORE time in those stocks.

Now, with them owning The Doves, with the shares arrangements they had with various in the village and the surrounding area, the way the young woman had set up that 'co-op', as she called it, a way for those who made things, laces, quilts, broideries, carvings, jams and jellies, and more, to find a decent market for them, bring in a bit of extra money, well, in some ways, The Cottages had become one of the more important 'families' in the district, one of the forces for stability.

She wondered how that would go over with the Ballantines, them used to those of the Mansion being the most important 'family'. Well, not that the Mansion had ever done much for the village, not in all the years they'd been here, just took the position due to their money, their land and that big house; didn't even buy much local, except for the most basic things, them having most shipped in to them from elsewhere, local not being near good enough for them, oh no. Didn't even hire local, except for the groundsmen, and not always then; brought in their household from agencies up London way, and never able to keep them for long either.

Yes, she had her qualms. She raised her head and looked at the young redhead, wondering just whether she should say what she was thinking, had been a bit worried about. There was bad blood in the Ballantines, she knew that from the old stories, seemed to boil out every second or third generation, and that always was a cause for concern.

Meghada saw the look, knew the wise old woman had something on her mind, "and you have something special you wanted to tell me, yes?" giving her a reassuring smile, settling back in her chair with the cup of tea she'd been offered, to enjoy with a sampling from the basket of fresh spiced biscuits she'd brought the woman. She noted the worried frown, and had to wonder. As far as she knew, none of her guys had departed the Mansion with any important souveniers.

Mrs. Wilson heaved a deep sigh, sat the stack of handkerchiefs aside and sat down heavily in the rocking chair. "Lass, she, the sister, she has a hunger for the men and not just in the usual way; it wasn't just Jeffrey, there were others, and always a problem it was, and never for her and hers, always for the man. If he went along and pleased her, it brought the father and brother down on him and his. I often wondered if she didn't set them on him after she got bored. If he took a pass, said 'no thank you', well, then SHE made sure there was trouble right off, told tales, made claims. Broke up more than one young couple, including a couple of married ones, her being the only one coming through it with a smile on her face, I can tell you that."

"Unless she's changed, you may be looking at trouble. You know, you've one of the finest collections of likely lads I've ever seen up there at The Cottages; doubt she'll be able to resist getting her fingers on them, including those two of your own."

She cast her eyes down at her work-gnarled hands and sighed again, "she causes right harm, she does; sets one against the other. We had brothers turn against each other, those who'd been friends since they were babes never speak to each other again. Your lads, well, they be good lads, I'd hate to see anything like that happen," looking Meghada straight in the eye.

"Child, she doesn't like competition; she'll see you as that, and she'll see targeting your men, well, aside from their own appeal, she'll see that as a way of putting you in your place. You'll need to be aware, be careful of her. Don't take her lightly. Don't let her ruin what you've built."

The two women looked at each other, each knowing full well what The Cottages represented, what the men living there meant to the redhead.

Meghada smiled, a solemn smile of reassurance, "I'll take a care, you can be sure of that. I thank you, Mrs. Wilson, for your honesty, for your kindness." 

She took up the baskets of laundry and fit them them in the back of the jeep, and headed home. {"Time for a family conference, I believe,"} she thought on the way home. She didn't make a point of passing along every bit of tittle-tattle she heard, the village being a prime place for it; she'd had her fill when she'd been the one being talked about.

Still, there was not one story told about her like the one Mrs. Wilson had just told her, any stories about her causing harm, trying to stir up mischief, other than some from that snake Doby, and she'd put him right more than once for the impertinence. The others, well, they'd tell those stories about her trouncing any man who tried to get above board with her, and that wasn't gossip; that was just pure fact, even if it did get exaggerated somewhat, perhaps. After all, she hadn't REALLY torn the balls off that idiot from Ulster; she had CONSIDERED it, perhaps, but she'd contented herself with kicking them halfway up into his throat, which seemed to do just as good a job. And that Yank officer, she HADN'T shoved those handcuffs up his arse, no she had not! She just slashed him across the face with them a couple of times, that's all. Well, alright, three times if you insisted on counting! But the bastard had laid rough hands on her Englishman, as a 'favor' to her, mind! and she just felt it right to return the favor.

That night, as they all finished dinner, she had a word; it wasn't her way to set down rules of behavior for those living in The Cottages. Well, perhaps there were a FEW, but they ran more along the lines of requests, asking that their larceny being limited to OUTSIDE of the village and far enough away not to involve the local constable, trying to mitigate Goniff's magpie tendencies, and limiting the breakage, and preferably not bringing the authorities to the doorstep. She didn't ask for miracles, just for a sincere effort. This was their home; they had a right to their own comfort, their own privacy; she'd not interfere with that more than need be.

She still didn't want strangers inside her own space, but she knew the men had a need of companionship of their own choosing, so the only rule was that the doors connecting to the first cottage where she and Goniff and Craig made their own nest be secured if they brought in outsiders into the other areas. That rule had gone down after Craig had been brought to the blush by encountering the second one of Casino's visitors in the kitchen when he was not quite dressed for company. 

So far, that had been sufficient, and now they even went so far as to secure the doors into the other sections if they had company, bless their hearts, and that was important since the offices were in there, as well as the other rooms. Since everyone had a key to the internal doors as well as the outside, that caused no problem even in foul weather when someone needed to get through the locked section.

All in all, though, for much of their socializing, they used The Doves and the snug rooms above the pub, them seeming to like keeping their home near as much free of outsiders as she did. And she could see that, especially with the ladies, preventing any untoward scenes as one passed out of favor and another entered in; she certainly had no desire to be privy to any of that, not after Margie and Tess and whatever that little brunette's name had been got into it so loudly when Casino mistakenly (surely it had been a mistake!) invited them each over for the same night. Remembering some of his reading material, sometimes she wondered about that, but accepted his grinning assurances as they were given. The other guys were not so accepting, him getting everything from catcalls to wide grins to an exasperated look from Craig and a remarkably stolid and implacable look from Chief, one outdoing even his past best efforts. 

Still, this seemed important enough to be said, cautions to be given. They laughed a bit, the men did, at the thought that the 'Queen of the Mansion' as they started calling her, would cast an inviting eye toward them, but she also saw the knowing looks, the concealed grins on their faces.

Yes, each of them had an appeal to women, they knew that, though usually to rather different types, and enjoyed every minute of what that brought to them, including teasing each other about it all. She'd teased them a bit herself at times, just as she bore the brunt of their humor concerning her and her two lads, and the singing keeping them awake at night, and when were they going to make a recording for the BBC, and much else.

Later that night, in their own quarters, "w'at are you really worried about, luv? Not US, that can't be it," came with a smile from Goniff, stretched out on his side, all lean and sleek over on that big bed, looking over at Craig who was shucking out of his daytime clothes and at her in her robe combing out her long red hair.

"Even if we 'ad the inclination to look elsewhere, which we DON'T and why would we, can't see we'd 'ave the time OR the strength," with a knowing laugh.

Craig added, with a truly sly grin, "and we both remember those songs you wrote for Ciena for that club in Nashville!" and she had to think for a moment, then laughed, teasing them both, "just see that you DO remember, my laddies!" All of the songs had been about women getting their revenge on the men who cheated on them, well, the club was called Cheaters, so that made sense. Now that she remembered, one got his car trashed, one got kicked out with all his secrets 'hung on the line for the neighbors to see', one was haunted by her ghost, and the last, well, he ended up six feet under.

She looked at the two, one her Bondmate, the other HIS Bondmate and also hers, though from a later time and perhaps a slightly different reason, easing her eyes over the pleasing picture they made as Craig moved over to sprawl beside the Englishman. {'Fair mouthwatering they are, the pair of them!'}

"She likes to cause trouble, especially between friends, brothers, between lovers, husband and wife. We are all temptations to her, I think, in a variety of ways. You, my loves, I don't doubt you, you know that. Actor, now I imagine he's dealt with such harpies before, but I'd not like to see Lynn get hurt by the 'Queen' playing games, and you know she'd hear the talk when she gets back from her travels. Chief and Casino, well, they are each perhaps a bit more vulnerable, each in their own way, Chief perhaps a bit too reserved to put her in her place properly should the need arise, Casino a bit too sure of himself to believe he's at risk til he's in too deep. All of you, all of us, we've each had enough hurt; being a family, well, it's helped us get through some of that, I think; I just don't want her causing trouble for us," and she slipped out of her robe, turned down the light, and eased down onto the bed, into their waiting arms, still shaking her head, still concerned for those she'd taken into her heart. She snorted just a bit, thinking back to that nickname in her military file, 'Ice Queen', thinking how these men, the men in the other parts of their home, and Lynn as well, they'd put paid to that for sure. Sheila Riley more had the right of it, when she'd told her, "for all that name, with that lot, you're as soft as newly churned butter, my lass!"

Since the Ballantines had come back they'd heard a lot about the ones living in the three cottages on the outskirts of the village nearest the Mansion. The storekeepers, the Reverend Standish, the villagers, they all had mentioned them, even the housekeeper, cook and maids they'd had sent down from the agency in London once they'd mixed some with the locals and got the lay of the land, so to speak. Three different families had lived there in their youth, no one important of course, they WERE just cottages after all; then one by one they'd become vacant, til they were all bought by someone a few years ago. A very young woman had moved into the cottage closest to the Mansion before they'd moved to Switzerland; Arthur had seen her perhaps once or twice, Laurette never had, and that cottage had become known as the O'Donnell Cottage.

Now, it seems those three cottages were known as 'The Cottages', just that, like there were no others. Like the Ballantine home was 'The Mansion'; Laurette thought that was a rather arrogant bit of pretention; she already knew she didn't like the woman, though she'd not met her yet. 

She let Arthur know how she felt most strongly. "Some little upstart! Coming in here like she owns the place! All I hear is Miss O'Donnell, the O'Donnell lass, 'her what has The Cottages'. She's got her nose into everything, her fingers into everyone's business! Living over there with a bunch of men, not a one her husband or any relation to her, from what I've been told. We can't get fresh chickens or eggs from the old woman we used to get them from because they are all intended for The Cottages, some special arrangement already in place. We can't get our choice from the butcher, until he knows what SHE needs for the week. The old washer woman told me I'd have to wait to get my new dress taken care of, where that clumsy oaf spilled wine on it, because 'I've the bundle for The Cottages to see to first." I used to be able to buy laces from the cottage women at a good price; now, it seems they get a better price through THAT WOMAN, and won't sell to me unless I meet that price! It is outrageous! Arthur, you have to do something about her! I simply won't stand for it, do you hear me??"

Arthur set his pipe aside, and laid down his ink pen. "And what do you expect me to do, Laurette? She's been here for several years now, supporting the community, becoming a part of it, while we were off in Switzerland. She's helped build the local economy, helped it to prosper when so much of the country hasn't. They purchase quite a bit from the locals on a regular basis. We can't expect them to slight her in favor of us, Laurette."

She bristled. "WE are the Ballantines! They can't just forget that; they're treating her like, like, like SHE's the one from the most important family in the area. Get rid of her Arthur! I want her gone! I mean it, I won't put up with this!" She flounced out, and he was left, looking after her, sighing deeply. 

He'd been more than a little shocked, himself, when he'd returned and found out just how deeply involved in the community the O'Donnell woman had become; he'd remembered her as little more than a child, though he realized that had been several years ago, and of course she'd gotten older. The more he learned, however, the more he could see her involvement had all been to the benefit of the community.

Yes, he had to admit he didn't approve of her having all those men living down there, but most of the locals didn't seem disturbed by it, and that had deeply surprised him; he'd have thought they would have been; they were pretty conservative, if he remembered rightly. He knew their general history, that they were a former special forces team stationed at the Mansion during the last few years of the war; he'd had Doby, the town ne'r do well, whisper to him that they were all criminals, put in his bit about how he doubted they were up to any good even now, nor the woman either, her being no better than she ought be, always some trouble or other she was causing during the war, men always showing up at the cottage, and the police having to come and such. And there was more, that he wasn't even sure he could ask about. How could he even mention what Doby had said about the two blond men? Something really off, about collars and bands and things he just didn't understand, and some other things he DID, but which were so shocking he didn't want to even consider.

He'd been concerned, and had a word with Ben Miller, who was Constable, had taken over the position from his father when the elder Miller had retired. He remembered the Millers, father and son, as being solid, dependable public servants, good members of the community. Ben had given a contemptuous and dismisive hmmph.

"Don't do to pay much attention to what Doby says, Mr. Ballantine. Troublemaker he is, troublemaker he always has been, from what my Dad said, even as a little tike. Those at The Cottages, even when the men were up at the Mansion, even when they were always going off doing dangerous things what needed to be done during the war," not even hinting by a look in his eye at what he was thinking, which was {"while you and yours were off living high in a safe place!"}, "well, they did their bit for the village, their bit and more. They've earned their place, them and the O'Donnell lass as well. We're the better for them being here, I think most will tell you that, were happy to have them to settle here afterwards."

When Arthur had expressed his concern about the woman and the men living there all together, and with some reluctance the more shockingly scandelous bits he'd gotten from Doby in a sly whisper, he got a casual, "oh, don't you worry your head, sir. Miss Meghada, well, her and Miss Lynn, she who's Mr. Garrison's sister, they have things sorted out well enough. They're all just fine; no need to have a thought there."

Ben didn't like gossip; didn't intend to give out any more information than he needed to. Not that he thought any at The Cottages had anything to be shamed of; how they lived their lives, well, he thought that was their business, and none of anyone elses, and them not making any public displays that might offend some, other than the collars, of course, and most had gotten well used to those, which was more than he could say of what he remembered about the antics of the Ballantine woman.

Arthur was somewhat relieved, but also made inquiries at the local physician, a Dr. Riley, new to the village since the Ballantines had left, and the local reverend and his sister, who ran the orphanage, a woman known for her upright virtues, along with her betrothed, a Sergeant Major Rawlins who had been assigned here during the later years of the war. He got similar reassurances from all of them, each steadfast in their calm acceptance of those in that rather odd establishment, of their value to the community, and went back to the Mansion relieved in his own mind, though knowing he'd have no luck changing his sister's mind.

He related what he'd heard at the dinner table, anyway, watching her lips tighten as she spit out at him, "yes, take the word of those village know-nothings! I'm telling you she's trouble; she needs to go, Arthur, and YOU need to see to it!" She said not one more word for the rest of the meal, and while that was a relief on one front, he did worry about what she was planning. He'd known her for too long, watched her for too long, and he knew she was planning something. It was just up to him to keep her in check.

For now, he needed a bit of time away; she would pout in her room for the rest of the evening, he knew. Arthur Ballantine headed for The Doves, thinking a pint sounded good; perhaps it would help him to relax, to forget.

He'd thought it would be awkward, this first meeting, but it really wasn't. He'd seen them when he came in, five men all seated together at a big round table, laughing and joking, and the descriptions matched what he'd been given by Doby. Well, except Doby had made them sound sinister and unpleasant and uncouth, and that wasn't what he was seeing, not at all.

He found himself envying the easy companionship between the five men, the way the locals called out casual greetings and were greeted in return. He watched as the dark one took three games out of three at darts, and then shook his head with just a hint of a smile when invited to play again. They seemed a friendly bunch, he thought.

Still, it came as a surprise when the tall blond man looked in his direction, said something to the others, rose and came over to stand in front of his own small round table. "You must be Arthur Ballantine. I'm Craig Garrison," with a friendly smile, with an outstretched hand. "We enjoyed the hospitality of The Mansion during the war, you know. Would you like to join us for a drink?"

And it wasn't awkward at all, not even later, when the shapely redhead joined them, her smile just as friendly, her handshake just as firm. Not even when he noticed that collar she wore, the one matching the one at Garrison's throat. He glanced over at the smaller blond headed man, to look for those wrist bands Doby had been so snide about, saw them, and found himself looking into mischievious pale blue eyes, a knowing smile on that wide expressive mouth. Ballantine flushed just a bit, but no one said anything, no one took offense at his curiousity. 

Later, as he remarked, "I don't remember The Doves being quite this nice; I must remember to compliment the proprietor," and the comfortable laughs that caused confused him, til the ones with the bands, Goniff he'd been introduced as, responded, "Thanks. We've made a few changes over when you'd 'ave seen it last; would you like a tour?" did he start to realize, and looked over at Garrison, the question evident in his eyes.

"Yes, Goniff and Meghada bought The Doves toward the end of the war. Gene and Rita manage it; Jake and Lou tend bar, Josie and Nellie wait tables; we all take a hand at whatever needs doing," and turned back to his discussion of something about arranging a shipment for 'the co-op'.

Arthur looked back at Goniff, "yes, I'd greatly enjoy a tour," and allowed himself to be shown upstairs, to the three neat and tidy bedrooms and two nicely outfitted rooms with comfortable armchairs, solid table and straight chairs, reading material in the tall bookcases that Goniff explained as "for those who want a bit of a natter more in private, or just a quiet place to sit and think." Back downstairs he took a look at the spotless kitchen, "we do sandwiches and such anytime we're open for any who ask, and Rita puts on a big pot of whatever she fancies on Mondays, early evening. Draws quite a few in, 'er being a right good cook. The board downstairs tells whats available, whats the toll." 

Ballantine asked, "this co-op they were speaking of; I've heard it mentioned but don't really understand. What is it?" and was told of the arrangement Meghada had put in place.

"There's a small store 'ere, outta the old Clarkson cottage; she 'as it fixed up real nice; young Mollie takes care of that. Displays some of pretty much everything the co-op 'andles; locals can buy there if they like, but most buy direct from the ones who make, just as they always did. But it's nice for catching the attention of the daytrippers, the ones just passing through, and the cottage is where they'll see it, being along the main street. Mostly though, it's for the locals to look through, get pride from 'aving their own things showing, the cards telling where each is being sent, giving others maybe that extra bit of encouragement they need to bring their own makings to Meghada's attention. Most of what they bring 'er, well it goes to the shops in the big cities, and a right nice price she gets for them too."

Ballantine frowned just a bit at that, and Goniff laughed gently, knowing well what he was thinking. "Meghada takes ten percent of the price, to 'elp with the shipping and packaging and displays and such, and asks that one piece be kept at the store, which all seem right pleased to do. The rest goes to the ones who made it; and the records are open to any who wants to take a look; well, any who'd 'ave a NEED to be taking a look, acourse, and only at their own record, not to go prying into others business. She's been known to advance someone the ready if they need 'elp getting set up at the beginning, like, and letting them pay it back out of profits. Usually works fine, and if something just doesn't make a go, well, she's written off more than one such, just as cost of business, not intending to discourage any from trying, you know. She pays Mollie a bit herself; there's not a lot of traffic, but Mollie's a right skillful weaver, and we set up Mollie's loom to the side, so she's well content, it being a pleasant place for 'er to do 'er own work, 'er things being on display there as well." 

When they got back to the table, the conversation had turned to arranging pickup and delivery of grain, and he heard about the sharing arrangement The Cottages had with various of the locals, crops grown for them, livestock raised intended for them; he found the concept fascinating, and the wheels within wheels complexity even more so.

"So, Canderson raises grain for you, keeps part and the rest, that goes to the ones who raise livestock for you, for their own use and to feed the livestock. You pay Canderson in cash?" only to hear that Canderson took his payment in a certain amount of cash, but also in seed The Cottages purchased in bulk from their own suppliers, enough for his own use in addition to what he grew for them, and in a portion of what The Cottages had others produce for them, dairy, eggs, meat, enough to supplement his family's diet. He heard about how Canderson and his wife and his son, come back wounded in the war, had thought they'd have to give up their small holding, for lack of funds to buy seed and keep themselves going, though it was breaking their hearts, it being in their family going back generations. It was the same for many of the others, he heard, having the land, the labor available, but not enough of the ready to buy seed, buy feed, buy starter chicks or feeder pigs; this worked out well for a great number of the villagers and those in the surrounding lands.

"It must take a lot of doing, keeping it all straight," he marveled.

"Well, Meghada figured it all out and got it set up to start, but Chiefy 'ere, 'e 'as a right knack for making it all work together. And, 'e's come up with a few new wrinkles to mix in," indicating the dark young man who hadn't said a lot, but seemed to be pleasant enough. Ballantine understood a lot better now why their old sources for local supplies hadn't been so eager to let The Mansion have first pick anymore; a great deal was 'purchased', if you'd want to call it that, in advance.

"It all sounds wonderfully complicated, but certainly to everyone's benefit. How do the Rates people deal with all that?" to get a full round of laughter.

"Not particularly well! I think they pay whoever deals with The Cottages hazard pay!" Meghada told him, with a wide grin on her face, not mentioning the rather unusual status of The Cottages through being a Clan Enclave.

Actor turned the discussion to the art at The Mansion, and Ballantine found it enjoyable to discuss that as well, as he'd spent the first few days back reacquainting himself with some of his favorite pieces. Casino entertained him with the story about how he'd convinced Goniff to see if he could fit into that set of armor in the common room, and the small man had just about given Private Perkins a heart attack by talking to him from inside and then got stuck and had to have help getting back out again; Ballantine admitted he'd done the same as a small boy, only with him it was the upstairs maid who got the scare, and Arthur who got a sound thrashing.

Arthur Ballantine drove home to The Mansion, thinking he didn't remember having such a pleasant evening in a long time, thinking that he rather liked the inhabitants of The Cottages, strange lot though they admittedly were, thinking, hoping, everything stayed calm so that he might enjoy many such evenings in the future.

She'd done some asking around, having remembered who'd be likely as the right informant to give her the heads up in return for a bit of coin, and she'd found he was eager to do so. It seemed he didn't much like the O'Donnell woman, or any of the others either.

Laurette dressed in her finest dress; well, not her FINEST, not something she would have worn in London, or Paris, or Geneva, certainly, but her finest for HERE, well, alright, the finest she was willing to waste on a trip to the village, "certainly the finest anyone around HERE has ever seen!", visiting the shops, winkling out what she wanted to learn, seeing what she wanted to see. Still, it WAS elegant, that dress, far too elegant in the eyes of those who saw her. The comments ranged from awed wonderings at where on earth she might be going to be dressed so fine and why she was stopping in at the housegoods store betimes, to snickers barely held inside at the foolishness of it being worn at all in village streets. 

The men saw her getting out of the car as they loaded in supplies, from The Doves, the butcher, all the rest.

"That's her? The sister?" Chief asked quietly.

"Has to be, ain't anyone else around here gonna wear somethin like that! Not a bad looking broad, though; pretty enough face, a little skinny where it counts, but not bad," Casino gave his considered view.

Actor looked at the tall exquisitely groomed blonde woman, attired in a pale rose silk dress with trimmings of a darker rose, ruffled and ruched, banded and buttoned, thinking it had probably cost more than the annual income of everyone in the village combined, and certainly not appropriate here. He found himself feeling surprisingly repelled for some reason, him, the connoisseur of beautiful, elegant women, but still replied, "Casino, not every woman has to be pouring out of her dress to be attractive, you know," in his usual disdainful way.

"Well, no, but it sure don't hurt," came the cheerful reply from the safecracker, secure in his own rather basic approach to the yin and yang of life.

Garrison took a good look, appraisingly. "Yes, attractive, certainly, and she knows it. Head high, like she really IS queen of the hill."

Goniff looked her up and down, "gotta say I agree with Casino, not much shape to 'er, and, 'er clothes? Lots of flash, but whatta ya want with flash when you're goin to the store, eh?" They shrugged, went back to the job at hand, and pretty much forgot about her, til they met up with her later. 

She, on the other hand, once she'd got out of their direct line of vision, had stepped into the shadows and taken a good look at the group, at each of the men. She looked her fill, thinking, considering, deciding. She measured what she'd been able to find out about each of them against what she saw. {"Certainly attractive, each of them, in their own way, at least to some small degree. None outright repulsive anyway. Now, who do I start with? Let's see, which one would she be most upset over, to know he was in my bed?"} she smiled to herself.

According to that Doby creature, the O'Donnell woman had her claws into both that short blond man and the taller more refined looking blond, the one who'd been an officer. Well, there was another possibility for a bit of fun; she couldn't imagine either of those two knew about the other's involvement with the woman, and didn't that make her just a sly knowing puss, for all you'd never think it by how she dressed and looked, would you? Wouldn't it be just lovely to be sure they found out what games the little upstart was playing?? Well, she'd see if she couldn't just make that happen, hhmmm?

Well, now to decide, how to start; she just couldn't see herself approaching a Red Indian, after all, certainly not in public, that was just too shocking! Later, in more private surroundings, yes, he might be rather enjoyable, and if he proved difficult, or more likely, when she grew tired of him, well, she knew just how to handle that! Tar and feathers, probably a lot more, for daring to put his hands on a white woman, a Ballantine at that! Yes, she knew just what to say and do!

The tall dark man, Italian from his accent, older, elegant and charming, of course, but, well there was just something too knowing in his eyes; she thought she might have trouble with him, so she would hold him for later, when she could take her time.

The shorter dark haired man, well, he was appealing in a rough sort of way, and she licked her lips and shivered just a bit at the thought of his hands on her, demanding, taking, and a bit of bruising could be helpful if she needed to show some proof to the doctor and Constable afterwards; but there again, he was one to be dealt with in private, not where anyone could see her with someone like him.

She rather thought it would have to be the primary ones, the ones that woman saw as hers, at the beginning. It would be especially delightful if she could start her game that way and let that O'Donnell woman know right up front just what she was facing!

Of course, it had to be Garrison, she decided. She didn't like short men in general, though she'd get around to that one before the game was over, of course, one way or another, and that innocence in his pale blue eyes, well that held an appeal all of its own, thinking how to shatter that once and for all. But for now, the tall blond, AND perhaps slipping a word to him about the short one; or, should she start at both ends, enjoy ensnaring the tall one, and start getting the short one agitated about the woman treating him so badly, betraying him? Yes, that might be the most fun! If she was going to be stuck here for awhile, she deserved to get some enjoyment from it, after all!

They came home laughing, joking, teasing Craig about his new conquest. He was a little flushed, but joking back with them. Goniff's teasing didn't ring quite so true as the rest, and Craig was well aware of that. His pickpocket was possessive, of him, of Meghada, possessive and protective, and had proven it on more than one occasion. Craig knew that made Meghada feel as warm and loved as it made him feel; someone else might not have relished that, but for them, like with the collars, it felt right, felt good.

However, Craig was also well aware it made no good sense to bring those emotions to the front too drastically; he still remembered the slender Englishman decking the much taller American Colonel who'd done so, and that had not been the only occasion. Goniff could be the amiable mischief maker, a bit of a clown, the mother hen of the group, but those were only a few of his many sides, and some of the less frequently visible ones, well, they could prove downright dangerous.

Craig had been uncomfortable at the more than obvious attentions and blandishments of the tall blonde woman, but had remained pleasant, polite though the encounter. While they were standing next to the counter in the local grocery, he'd maintained his composure as she reached out that gloved hand to lay it on his forearm, patting and stroking gently, and leaned in to make their conversation more intimate, and a cold chill ran through him for some reason at the oddly flat look in those deep blue eyes.

He'd hurried them all out of the store when he saw Goniff eyeing the glass barrel of pickles standing at the woman's shoulder, getting just a slight smile in those expressive pale blue eyes, cocking that one eyebrow, one side of that wide mouth developing just a tiny bit of a twitch, as he seemed to be imagining that aromatic juice soaking down into that dainty, ever so elegant gown.

Craig could read his mind all too well, and as he took a fast look at the other men, to see the deeply amused looks of anticipation on their faces, he knew they were getting a pretty good idea of what the next few minutes could bring. Craig made a fast exit, yanking Goniff around by the shoulder, and as they all piled into the jeep, turned, meeting that cheeky knowing grin with a firm "I really don't think that would have been helpful," but then being unable to resist giving a small smile that turned into a grin and then into a laugh at the vision in his mind.

"Maybe not, but it would 'ave been a 'ell of a lotta fun! Think she goes around pettin everyone she takes a shine to? Maybe that brother o 'ers needs to get 'er a cat, or maybe a lapdog to get 'er mind AND 'er 'ands off what don't belong to 'er."

A few snorts and one low laugh came from the men. No, they all remembered quite well how the Englishman felt about anyone putting their hands where they didn't belong, at least where his two loves were concerned! The discrepancy with the attitude with which he obviously viewed physical items, him and his talented fingers, they'd teased him about that on more than one occasion.

Actor spoke up, "it seems Meghada had it correct; she is going to make a play. Looks like you're up first, Craig. The question is, how are we, you going to handle it? If we leave it to Meghada, it could get, well, perhaps more interesting than would be advisable. And I believe we are all agreed that letting Goniff take a hand would be just as bad."

They bickered amiably all the rest of the way home, Goniff assuring them that he did 'subtle' better than Meghada, to the jeering shouts and laughs of the others, them reminding him of one or two incidents that brought a reluctant grin to that gamin face and a wry nod of acceptance. "Didn't say a LOT better, mates, just better," and Craig Garrison looked at him with loving affection, accepting that as more the truth.

That was the first meeting; there were others, and it was soon obvious 'the Queen' had some source of information, for she always seemed to know when Garrison was out and about. He told the others he hadn't felt this hunted since one of the more perilous missions in Germany when he just couldn't seem to shake that Gestapo captain! Big Mike was considering getting up another pool, as he'd done during the war to such profit, this time how long Garrison could be out the Cottages door before he got snared on any particular day.

She made a point of popping up at unexpected times with Meghada as well. It was almost amusing, the haughty stare, the imperious 'Do I know you?' look, quite well done actually, followed by a polite surprised recollection, rather like 'oh, you're still here? I thought you'd left the village!' and a oh-so-gracious and sincere attempt at a condescending conversation, Queen to gutter snipe.

Meghada realized she was supposed to come away from these encounters feeling like a plain if not homely, not-too-bright country mouse; somehow, for some reason, that never really happened; surprisingly, she felt just like she felt BEFORE the encounter, if just a little more incredulous of the sheer air of self-importance worn by the tall overdressed and overly primped blonde. Funny, how she just couldn't seem to get it through her head she was supposed to have been 'put in her place.' {"Must be a Clan thing, like the failure to totally grasp the concept of being 'subtle'."} 

The one good thing that came out of each of those encounters was the amusement factor for the locals who witnessed them; gave them something to laugh about over their afternoon tea or evening meal, it did.

"Eh, Blanche, shoulda seen the meeting up between the O'Donnell lass and THAT ONE today! Hardly kept from laughing, I did, Herself trying to put the lassie down, and the sly thing just refusing to quite 'understand' what was being said, keeping that innocent smile on her face the whole time, the one I think she copied from that wee blond laddie of hers. Seems like Herself would catch on she's being made sport of, but not yet, she's not!"

They could see what was really happening; although Laurette Ballantine still seemed to think she was the winner of those encounters, she was the only one of that opinion. So far, according to Ben Miller when he discussed it with Dr. Riley, the official village score was O'Donnell 8, Ballantine 0, as listed on the blackboard at The Doves, though discretion made it read C-8, M-0, rather hidden amongst everything else written on the board, daily specials and announcements and the like; so far Arthur Ballantine hadn't caught on, or at least hadn't demanded it be removed. Dr. Riley hurumphed in amusement at the thought of it being otherwise. 

Mrs. Wilson, who did laundry for both The Cottages and The Mansion, she wasn't one for gossip in the general run of things, so she never told anyone about the conversation she and Meghada had over tea, the one that had Meghada pouring out apology after apology for being so crude.

That afternoon Mrs. Wilson overcame her dislike of gossip and had been relaying to the mistress of The Cottages what the housekeeper at The Mansion had told HER Miss Laurette had said, simply because it was too good NOT to tell. Seems Miss Laurette had been going on and on about how obviously that Miss O'Donnell thought she was so smart, keeping both of those blond men on a string. That the short one was probably the only one who'd take up with her during the war, what with her slutty reputation, and how Garrison was only attracted by her money, and how it was so obvious SHE had to know that but thought the humiliation was worth it, since he could clearly make up for what that little one wasn't able to give her, and more in that vein.

Well, Meghada had apologized over and over again; laughing so hard you spit your tea out through your nose, it was just rude! And crude! And, in this case, totally unavoidable! Well, Mrs. Wilson forgave her, of course; she'd come close to doing the same when Mrs. Daniels had told her that, Mrs. Wilson being well aware of Meghada's reputation and her nickname of 'the Ice Queen', and the reputation Goniff had as well, him being Meghada's all-night-man. Well, had all those high-toned society ladies chasing after him for awhile, hadn't he, cause of that, til they caught on he was only interested in the woman he had. She'd had a bit of a quiet chuckle herself later, over that high and mighty Miss Laurette not yet catching on to the true nature of things in that first cottage, with Meghada and Goniff and Craig. 

There was that one spot of sly malice that Meghada was royally pissed about, though, when 'the Queen' found time to get Goniff into a corner, but not for dalliance. Well, Meghada would have been pissed if she'd tried dalliance as well, of course, but this was perhaps worse. No, Laurette was just being 'kind'; she wanted to express her concern, her support during what had to be 'such a trying time' for him.

As he blinked those so innocent pale blue eyes up at her, she so gently sympathized with him over 'that dreadful O'Donnell woman', who didn't see his value, would be so heartless as to cheat on him with Craig Garrison. Well, yes, of course Garrison was ever so handsome, and so tall, and well built, and so well-spoken, and had such a lovely smile, but surely the woman had the sense to realize looks and such weren't everything. Laurette was sure Goniff had many good points, ones that the woman should value more; it wasn't as if SHE was such a prize, after all! In fact, it was a wonder Garrison even gave her a look, but she WAS the one with the money and the property, wasn't she? And, of course, if Goniff ever needed to just TALK to someone, Laurette would be more than happy. . .

He inhaled her rich perfume and decided it much too heavy on the vetiver and musk, quickly appraised the pearls at her neck and ears as nice enough but not worth the pinching, glanced down at her gloved hand on his arm, deciding that pretty little bracelet was a better bet, especially with the catch being a bit loose, and he was tempted, just as a bit of payback. He noted with some detachment that she was patting and stroking him too; he found he didn't much like it, any more than when she was patting Craig. She was so kind, so sweet, so sincere . . . so close to having him laugh in her face, or maybe spit in her face, it was a toss-up!

Later that night, he lay stroking his hand down the side of the woman stretched out in front of him, her wearing only that leather collar he'd placed around her neck well before the war had ended, dropping a kiss on her smiling lips, "well, see, luv, that's the problem, I just don't think my 'eart, my pride can 'andle you cheating on me with 'that tall 'andsome, well built, well-spoken Craig Garrison, 'im with 'is lovely smile and all."

"Well, you can't blame her now, can you," as that 'tall, handsome, well built, well-spoken' blond man nuzzled the flaxen head in front of him, as he flashed that 'lovely smile' at Meghada, his own collar firmly in place as he wrapped his arms around Goniff's waist, 'seems only fair, after all, YOU'RE cheating on HER with that same 'tall, handsome, etc, etc," and their soft laughs joined into one, to be followed by another round of soft caresses, then soft moans, and well, somehow, none of them felt they needed Laurette Ballantine's sympathy or concern. Though the thought of what she'd tried, the things she'd said to try and make her laddie feel badly about himself, doubt himself, doubt them, well that had Meghada royally pissed; there was a time when all that could have had an impact, though not now; still, the thought, of that woman targeting Goniff in any way, . . .

Meghada was starting to lose patience, especially as she saw how Goniff was starting to get more and more annoyed, no longer finding any of this amusing. She loved Craig, yes, was Bonded to him along with Goniff, but that was more recent and perhaps for more different reasons; but Goniff had Bonded to Craig early on, purely from love and need, and that was a totally different level, roused more intense reactions to outside interference. She knew if the woman had been making a true play for Goniff, she'd have lost patience long before now, and had to admire her Englishman for his restraint. She could feel that restraint slipping fast, though, and so she asked them, when they were settled down for the night.

"Alright, lads, what are we going to do? This is getting wearisome; Craig, you can't leave the grounds without her tracking you down; Goniff, my love, you are getting a look in your eye that bodes most ill for continued peace in the village! And, I have to admit, overall she's taking liberties that I find rather displeasing!"

Craig and Goniff looked at each other and they couldn't help it, they both started laughing. She looked at them archly, and asked, in a politely inquiring tone, "and you are amused by what, exactly?"

"Just remembering w'at 'appens when you find someone 'rather displeasing,' luv. Can't knacker this one, you know! She aint built for it! Anyways, don't know we 'ave any spare pitchforks laying about!"

"Oh, I'm sure I'd come up with something just as effective," but letting a wry grin cross her face, looking at the two of them. "But seriously, what DO we do? Not to mention, she obviously has someone passing her information. I would expect it's Doby, sneaky bastard that he is, though it might be someone else, as much as I'd hate to think that we have another of his sort ill-wishing us."

"No, it's Doby alright," came from Craig. At the questioning looks from them, he grinned, "I had a word with Ben; seems the brother came around asking about us all, and some of what he said, asked about, well, nothing everyone doesn't pretty well know, or at least assume, but Ben said Doby is the only one stupid enough to gossip with Ballantine so freely about it all,' touching his fingers to the leather collar he wore around his neck.

Meghada sighed with irritation. She put up with Doby, they all did, just like the rest of the village did. He'd been born here, had a right to live here as much as anyone else, but he was more than a nuisence, being a gossip and troublemaker of the first level.

"I've had a word with Doby in the past, I might just have to have another little conversation about tittle-tattling our business," and the two men grinned at each other.

"No, luv, you just let us do that little thing, alright?" and she looked at the two, at the looks on their faces and gave a little laugh, and nodded.

"Very well, but don't make me have to come bail you out from Ben's lockup," only to receive their fervent assurances with a slightly skeptical look. Somehow she thought the pest might wake up in the stocks again, as he seemed to have formed a habit of doing. While she could claim responsibility for some of those occasions, there were some that she could NOT, and she chose not to inquire too deeply about those.

Laurette was furious. First, that sneak Doby had stopped calling her, sending her messages about where she could find Craig Garrison or the O'Donnell woman. Then, Mrs. Wilson had sent word she'd decided she was getting too old to have so many customers anymore, and wouldn't be able to take in laundry from the Mansion anymore, that perhaps the washer woman over Kingsport way might be glad of their custom. The maids were always giggling til she came in the room, then they went silent; and when she taken them to task about her room not being dusted properly, well, she'd not liked the expression in their eyes, not one little bit. Cheeky, it'd been!

She was very sure they weren't getting the best produce, the best meat and fruit; the quality of their meals had certainly taken a turn for the worse, and suspected that all the really good things were all going to that ridiculous, stupid, frump of a woman. When she'd spoken to Cook about it, the impertinent woman had actually had the nerve to suggest the Ballantines could maybe get someone else for the position if the miss wasn't pleased with what she prepared! Laurette would have dismissed her on the spot if it hadn't been so close to dinner time and no time to get a replacement; when she'd told Arthur they needed to get a different cook, well, he'd just told her to leave the household matters to the housekeeper, and not get involved! And the housekeeper was nothing less than rude. Really!

Ben Miller had the nerve to leave a note on her car window about parking in the wrong place. People who knew better, who knew just who she was, a Ballantine, for Heaven's sake! well, they weren't being as respectful as they should be; she was starting to see amusement in their eyes, when she should have been getting awed subservience. She'd actually had someone make some awful ripping noise when she got out of her car the other day, such that she though she'd torn her new dress, until she'd taken another look. Arthur was being of no help whatsoever, though he certainly should; he owed her that much for bringing her back to this dreary little place. She pursed her lips; there was still one person willing to help her, and she knew just how to use that help! 

"Shit! I've got to go up to the Mansion this afternoon. Just got a call from David Arlington, from the Ministry. Seems he's discovered something about our 'tenancy' at the Mansion that has to be discussed between the three of us, me, him and Arthur Ballantine."

"You should have one of us go with you, Craig," Meghada spoke up, "I don't know Arlington, and although I rather like Arthur from what I've seen of him, I don't think we can let our guard down about anything to do with that place, the family."

"Well, I agree, but I was specifically told to come alone," he said, running his hand through his gold blond hair.

"And you are not in the military anymore, not subject to their orders. If you don't want to take anyone in with you, then perhaps there is another way, even better." They talked, made quick plans, phone calls were made, information exchanged, and when what she'd anticipated was confirmed, arrangements made and a couple of hours later he headed off for his meeting. 

He was met at the door by David Arlington, minor official at the Ministry, sophisticated, elegant, polite enough, but for some reason, slightly nervous. Garrison was shown into the sitting room, offered a drink which he declined, having enough sense, for Heaven's sake!, not to take food or drink in the enemy camp, and Arlington stepped out of the room, supposedly to let Arthur Ballantine know he had arrived.

Somehow, Craig was not too surprised when the door opened to show not Arthur Ballantine, but his sister, dressed in her most provocative dress, hair piled in abandon on top of her head. Casino would have had no reason to find fault with that dress, Craig though with amusement; she was barely keeping her top covered. She smiled, she flirted, she got close enough to stroke his upper arm. When he moved away, she followed, her lowered lids and eager mouth more apparent than ever before. 

"Come now, don't be shy," she purred, "no one will interrupt us. We can get much better acquainted; I know we'd both enjoy that."

"I'm here to meet with your brother, Miss Ballantine, on business," he tried to put her off, only to get a gay little laugh, "oh, you silly man. My brother isn't here, and you know that very well. You planned that quite well, and I know just why! Why would you have gone to so much effort to be alone with me if you weren't interested?"

Protests, explanations that he was in a committed relationship didn't help any more than he thought it would, only made her eyes get hard and colder. Next she was informing him of what that Miss O'Donnell would think about his time here, so he might as well enjoy what he was going to be thought to have partaken of anyway, all in a teasing, provocative voice.

He kept moving trying to keep out of her reach, dodging around furniture, starting to feel totally ridiculous, like he was the virtuous heroine in some Gothic romance novel trying to keep from being ravished by the lustful Earl, until her eyes changed even more, her mouth went into a pout, and she spat at him, "fine! Have it your way!" and threw back her head and screamed, shaking her head and having those carefully arranged locks fall in wild abandon. She tore at her dress, where it came apart with suspicious ease as if the seams had been loosened in advance, leaning, almost collapsing against the arm of the sofa in very well-done confusion and shock.

Arlington dashed back into the room, "my god, Garrison, you, you cad!" and despite the seriousness of the situation, Craig wanted to somehow laugh at the scene and the theatrical nature of that line; seems he'd been right about the Gothic novel theme of the day. 

"Laurette, my dear girl, here, sit down, compose yourself. You, sir, you will hold yourself in readiness for answering to Mr. Arthur Ballantine and the Constable for your despicable actions!"

A voice from the corner, where that little sliding door lived, where Goniff had discovered it during those years in residence, startled at least two of the three. "I rather doubt it is Mr. Garrison who needs to be answering for any of this," came in tired, weary tones from Arthur Ballantine, and the tight face of Ben Miller at his shoulder seemed to agree.

"Arthur, what are you doing here? I thought . . ." Arlington stuttered.

"I actually live here, Arlington. Of course, I might ask YOU that question, though that seems rather apparent, doesn't it? Get out!"

He waited til he heard the front door slam behind the rapidly retreating Arlington. "Laurette, go to your room. You might as well start packing; you are finally getting your wish, we will be leaving for Switzerland just as soon as I can make the arrangements. Craig, I cannot expect your forgiveness; however, I do offer you and yours my most sincere apologies."

Laurette started raging at him about not caring that "that man, he tried to attack me. You don't even care, do you, Arthur??! You always take THEIR side, never mine!"

"Laurette, your room, now!" he thundered, finally losing his temper, watching as she fled in a storm of tears. He sat at his desk long after Craig Garrison and Ben Miller had gone, head in his hands; then, with a deep sigh picked up the phone to make the arrangements for their journey. He doubted he'd ever be coming home to the Mansion again, and for right now, he was almost too tired to care. He didn't used to be this tired, he remembered that, but anymore, he felt like he was ninety, instead of the thirty he knew he was. So tired.

She slipped out of the house late morning, when Arthur was in his office. So she was going back to Switzerland, and yes, she was glad! More than glad to be brushing the dust of this despicable little place from her shoes, and this time she'd make sure Arthur never tried to bring her back! Maybe she would start upping that tiny bit of 'inheritance powder' she'd been slipping him over the past year or so. Such a cunning phrase, she'd always been fond of it; so much better than that harsh word 'arsenic'. That had been enough to keep him too tired to keep as good a watch over her as he had before; now, though, she'd just about decided that she didn't need him around, always spoiling her fun, telling her what to do, taking other people's part over hers. If he were gone, she'd have the Ballantine money and properties, do whatever she pleased; she didn't really need him, no she didn't! She was surprised she'd never thought of that before! She wondered just much she could increase that dose without anyone getting curious, and just how long it would take before she was free, really free.

She'd think about that later, though. For now, she had one more thing to do before she left! She was going to teach her a lesson. Oh yes, she knew exactly who was to blame for this, and don't think for one moment she was going to get away with it! No one humiliated a Ballantine, especially THIS Ballantine!

Craig was with Actor in the middle cottage area, in the office, planning their next 'consultation' when he heard the shrieking voice and then a crash. Habit caused him to reach for the revolver he no longer carried, at least here in England. He was through the hallway, Actor right on his heels, and slammed to a stop at the kitchen of the first living section. Meghada was kneeling on the floor, twisted to one side, hand pressed to where the blood was soaking through the waist of her dress, and the Ballantine woman was on the floor in front of her, unconscious, the broken kitchen chair showing what had taken her down.

As they watched in horror, the redhead crumpled all the way to the floor, face ashen; they raced in, Actor trying to staunch the heavy flow of blood while Craig made for the phone, making one frantic call after another - Dr Riley, The Doves - where Goniff and the others were unloading a shipment, then Ben Miller. The squeal of tires indicated their arrival, and the activity was only a flurry to Garrison's mind as he saw the look on Goniff's face watching the doctor working on the young woman who meant so much to their pickpocket, to all of them of course, but to him most of all. Craig's heart tore at the sight, and he squeezed that wiry shoulder tightly, "she'll be okay, Goniff, Riley'll take care of her," looking at the doctor, hoping for reassurance. The grim look on the doctor's face didn't offer quite what he was looking for, though.

He heard Ben on the phone, and realized the Constable was calling Arthur Ballantine, letting him know what had happened, or at least, what they'd found. He never knew how long it was before Ballantine was standing there, looking at his sister, now conscious again, ranting about the handcuffs Ben had snapped on her, pleading for her brother to help her, making accusations of being lured here and attacked, only having defended herself. He felt, as much as saw Goniff head for the woman, white hot fury in his face, and reached out to grab him, got to him just as Casino reached him, both of them pulling him back away from the wild-eyed woman screaming at everyone.

Ballantine gulped, "Is she going to be alright?"

Riley looked at him, stone-faced, "I haven't taken the time to look."

"No, not my sister. Her, Miss O'Donnell, will she be alright?"

Riley looked at him, then glanced at the others, particularly at Goniff. "I don't know yet. It's not just her, you know, the babe . . ." and he swallowed deeply, "I just don't know." He looked at Goniff, at Craig, at their wide, shocked eyes, "I just saw her this morning, just confirmed . . ." and his green eyes were so sympathetic, "she was to tell you later tonight, when you were together." 

Craig never really remembered the rest of that day. He knew Ballantine had confirmed this wasn't the first violent action by his sister, almost in a whisper confirming his belief that first their mother, then their father had fallen to her rage, and later there had been at least two more that he suspected she had a hand in; that provisions would be made for her to, indeed, go back to Switzerland, but to an institution this time, a privately owned, tightly guarded place for the criminally insane.

Ballantine and Ben took the still raging woman out, and the silence was almost unbearable. Goniff was beyond words, and the lost look in his eyes, well, it was something Craig had never seen there before, not even at the worst of times, and he'd have given anything to make that look go away, but that wasn't within his power. The others moved around them, providing what support they could, but didn't interfere with them, the two of them holding tightly to each other, trying to make it through this together. They waited, seemingly forever, til they were finally brought to attention by a more than weary AJ Riley standing in front of them. They looked at him, all the fear, all the hope, in their eyes, to get a kindly smile, "she'd going to be fine, her and the babe, they'll be fine."

He watched their eyes, and he nodded to himself. It had crossed his mind a time or two, knowing about these two being lovers, wondering, hoping the lass was not less in their view, in their hearts for all that; his wife had scolded him for his worry, told him it was no such a thing, but still, until now, he wasn't sure. Now, he knew she'd been right. He repeated himself, "they'll both be fine," and let them go in to see her, though she was sleeping for now. He wondered, for just a moment, which of them was the father, but then, knowing she was Clan, realized it just wasn't important. They were family, they would BE family, the babe right along with them, and he couldn't think of a better way for it to be. After all, wasn't that why his own family had lived within the Clan, close to the Clan for so long, and his Sheila's family as well?

"Well, I feel right stupid, I do!" she told them later in a somewhat less than strong voice, trying to distract them, trying to get that look out of their eyes. "I was woolgathering, thinking on the news, thinking about how I'd tell you both, thinking where we'd best set up the nursery, the door to the kitchen open to let out the heat from the oven, and she was on me before I could properly turn around. Kevin would hurt himself laughing at me, ME, The Dragon, taken down by some mad woman with a medieval dagger in my own kitchen!"

She privately thought they looked worse than she did, and the earlier look she'd taken in her hand mirror had assured her that she had looked better on many a day. They were both pale, Goniff actually pasty. His blue eyes were haunted, Craig's green ones not much better.

"Lads, I'm alright, we're alright. It's over and done, and afore long, we'll have things back to rights around here. Please, loves . . ." and she gathered them in closer to her, her red head nestled between the gold blond and the flaxen blond.

"I couldn't 'andle it, 'Gaida, I couldn't 'andle losing you," came in a hushed whisper from her Bondmate, her dearest love, her beloved MacTire, and she kissed him at his temple, tasting his pulse under her lips.>p>

"And I'll do my best to make sure you don't have to, love. Like I said, I'm right embarrassed at myself!"

Garrison was looking down at her, at them, "I should have . . ." and she sighed, and shook her head at him, the one she loved also, the one she'd Bonded to later to ensure they could find each other on The Long Road, the one to whom guilt came as second nature it seemed.

"You should have what, Craig? Known she was murderously insane? That she'd killed before? Known she'd come here to attack me? Know I was so wrapped up in myself, in the news I had to share that I'd not be better able to protect myself? Aye, you should have known all that, for after all, it's all knowing, all powerful you are, isn't that right??! Stop being silly and give me a hug! That's what I want from you, not apologies for that which you had no control over!"

She looked at them both and with one hand gently stroked the gold blond hair, with her other the flaxen blond. "What do you say we start over? Aye?"

At their questioning, uncomprehending looks, she grinned a cheeky grin at them and said, with a faint but sincere smile in her voice, "lads, guess what?? I've a bit of news; looks like we're not going to disappoint Goniff's mum after all; seems we're going to have a baby, we are!!"

And Goniff grinned and chuckled deep in his throat, looked at her with wet hazy eyes and hugged her to him; Craig laid back his head and laughed, laughed with wonder at her resilience, her abiding love for them, and at the news, that they were to be taking the next step for this family, this highly-unorthodox family, the family he was so lucky to have found, the family he couldn't imagine ever being without.

And several months later, when Dr Riley looked down at the babe nestled in Meghada's arms, he smiled at how he'd wondered who was the father. Well, the babe told them that himself, young Randall Craig, perfectly formed, all not-quite-five pounds of him, though full term, wide expressive mouth, cheeky grin, just like Goniff, gold blond hair and emerald green eyes, just like Craig.

Sheila Riley laughed at the look on her husband's face, "you forgot, she's Dragon, they tend to do things a bit differently, you know," and the doctor took another look, laughed and had to agree.

Certainly, there was no hesitation, no doubt on the faces of Meghada, or her two loves, when they looked at each other, when they looked down on that babe as they passed him from arm to arm. He was THEIRS, just as they knew he would be, no matter the color of his eyes, or hair or anything else. And if the good humored teasing they got from the others was any indication, no one else doubted that either.

And if Meghada caught just a glimpse of what lay underneath, of what the son of a Dragon, a MacTire, and a Warrior might be, well, she'd wait and explain that to her lads a bit later, but certainly before the first Change; that gave her probably, oh, a good two, maybe three months at least! And if the two men heard that chuckle, well, they put it down to the sheer joy they were all feeling in this, the birth of their first child.

For her part, she intended to go back through the old records; few of the Dragons tended to Bond, even fewer tended to bear children. But if her memory served her rightly, those few she remembered as having done so, had children to carry on the line, seems they'd also been in a three-way Bonding. Now, wasn't that just ever so interesting, almost as if that was what was needed. And of those children, well . . .

"Meghada!! You're telling us . . ." Incredulous looks were on each of the two men's faces, then from Goniff, a huge roar of delighted laughter, "oh, luv, this I gotta see! I can't wait!" and Craig just gave his own laugh, shaking his head. He had a feeling those parenting books he'd bought in London, the ones for expectant fathers, were going to fall just a bit short in dealing with the challenges to come. Now, just to figure out how to explain this to all those eager baby-tenders a few rooms down!

It was just at three months; Lynn had gone in to get Randy from his nap when they heard the slightly high pitched call, "Meghada, guys, I think you need to come in here. Now, please!!!" and everyone went running at the tone of her voice. They screeched to a halt at the door, to the sight of an empty crib, to see Lynn standing stock still, staring at the top of the wardrobe, eyes wide with shock.

They followed her line of vision, and Craig started laughing in amazed wonder, and Goniff, he was beaming with delight as he walked over and reached up his arms, "and who's my 'andsome lad, now?" as the small golden wolf cub smirked back at him, and with a gallant flip of his extremely long tufted tail, spread his bat-like wings and sailed down to the shelter of his daddy's arms. He preened and wiggled with pleasure as those long talented fingers scratched behind his ears and under his wings, and wiggled even more as he was passed along to his other daddy, and then to his mum, and eventually to his aunt and uncles, each taking turns stroking his soft fur, tickling him, all to his evident delight, before, with a contented sigh he Changed back again, ready for his next meal.

"Takes after 'is mum, 'e does, in some ways," Goniff wrote his own mum and his Aunt Moll, "though she says she can see a lot of me in 'im, as well. A right 'andsome lad, 'e is, all told!" And, four years later, when their M'Coury turned out to turn out even more like her mother, well . . .


End file.
